Mrs. Johnson’s account of her husband’s first speech in Congress is as
dramatic and vivid as Baudet’s description of the trial in the “Nabob.”
Like the Nabob’s mother, she was in attendance unknown to the principal
actor; but, in her case, this was due to intention, not accident.
“I was alone in the stall of the gallery,” she said, “save for one
other woman, who was there evidently merely from curiosity. I was
choking, trembling from excitement. There was a great, inarticulate
noise in the chamber, the banging of desk-lids, the calling of
members to pages, the murmur of voices in conversation. Groups were
scattered about the room; members were reading; no one was paying the
slightest attention to the proceedings. Then Mr. Johnson arose, and
I felt my heart stand still. Surely they would stop the noise, if
only from common courtesy. But there was not an instant’s cessation
in the hubbub; everything continued exactly as before. He began to
speak, but I could hardly catch the sound of his voice. I leaned
forward and gripped the rail; the confusion would distract him; he
would break down. Oh, how I hated those men who had no consideration
for anyone but themselves. I felt the eyes of the other woman on me,
sympathetically, pitying. Suddenly, someone cried ‘S-sh!’ and there was
an instant’s cessation in the noise. But only for an instant. I was
bending forward over the rail, my eyes fixed on the speaker, hoping,
praying for his success. Suddenly, W. C. Breckenridge, who was sitting
directly in front of him, lifted his eyes and caught sight of me, and
started to rise to come up into the gallery. I raised my hand and
motioned him back, for I feared Mr. Johnson might look up and see me.
Mr. Breckenridge sank back in his seat again, and I breathed a sigh of
relief.”